


paiderastia

by Emeka



Category: Summon Night (Video Games)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Underage, Grooming, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Erst loves his new baby brother.
Relationships: Erst Brattern/Ghift Brattern
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have a million things to do but this is my birthday gift to myself ok
> 
> also given the tags i know it feels weird to call this 'not porn' but if porn's what you're looking for you'll probably be disappointed.

He is eleven when his little brother is brought home; a crying, squalling thing that never sleeps. The beginnings of fraternal feelings stirred inside him when he looked down into his crib and saw that, noise aside, maybe it was cute, after all. Fat pink cheeks and hamhock limbs. But he saw responsibility, too. He did not think he could stand by and let him grow as he had... left alone most hours of the day, cold, alone.

He holds his little brother in his arms and marvels at how purely warm he is. ‘Sensual’ is unknown to him, both as a word and concept, but that is how this warmth feels. If he wasn’t afraid of getting spit-up on him, he might squish his face into the crook of his neck or hold him against his chest as if to burp him. It’s a heat that kind of melts his insides.

His little brother---Ghift---and what a gift he is---begins to fuss. He carries him to the sitting couch where he can look at him better, closer. Ghift stops fussing, like a face was all he wanted to see, and stares at him near-sightedly, little rosebud mouth working. Is he hungry? Babies probably have to eat a lot to grow. But mom seemed really tired and irritated when she got home, and it’s not like he’s crying... he sticks his pointer finger inside instead, and is amused when he immediately begins to suck. His little brother’s mouth is hot, wet silk (better than it sounds) and has two smooth ridges of gum that nibble like a goldfish. Obviously there’s no milk, but his eyes still close. Maybe it’s soothing just to make the motion of sucking.

The tiny tongue inside presses against the tip of his finger. His little brother starts sucking so hard it hurts; by pressure alone, if not the nibbling. But something about it strikes his body the same way his body heat had. It vibrates just in his finger at first, then his hand, until it’s shooting in to his lower belly.

He carefully takes his hand back. He knows this sensation, and is alarmed to be experiencing it in connection to his brother.

For a few months he tries his hardest to be a good big brother. His little brother shouldn’t have to grow up like he did. He cuddles him, even when he wakes him in the middle of the night, kisses his cheek, anything to make him feel like a well-loved baby.

Erst is popular with his peer group. He has received plenty of romantic attentions from them, which he finds impossible to reciprocate. But his body is still growing and doing as a young boy’s body does. His penis gets hard more than it used to. His mind wanders during class; how does his nudity compare to others? the thoughts in his head? the dreams he can’t recall?

Popular, but alone, he’s unsure what to do with himself.

Sometimes he lets his brother suck his finger again. He tells himself his attention is out of love. If not for him, Ghift would have no attention at all. No attention that really matters, beyond their parents’ utilitarian feeding and diaper-changing. Love. He’s giving him love.

In a way---doesn’t that make Ghift _his_ child too?

And wouldn’t that make him his to mold? To do... whatever with? As long as he’s alive, he doubts their parents will care, whatever he does.

His imagination is limited but it goes over all the possibilities it knows. Raising his little brother at his knee. And he loves him, he does. He loves him already for the love he never had.

Ghift is two months old when he takes him from his crib and, after pulling up his shirt, cradles him to his flat chest. His nipple rubs against his mouth, which immediately pops open again and latches on. Another jolting sensation runs through him. If only he had milk to give him, and his hungrily sucking baby mouth.

Does his brother love him yet? How old is old enough for love?

He puts him back down on the couch when his chest starts to ache, and observes his spit-soaked nipple. It’s poking out more than it does in the cold. A pleasant buzz remains.

He climbs carefully atop his brother, knees pinned at the sides of his tiny head, like a walnut he could easily crush. Proceeding from here is awkward with his pants in the way even yanked down, but he hovers himself close enough that his mostly soft penis brushes his brother’s lips.

Ghift’s mouth reacts automatically, as it always has so far. It sucks on enthusiastically, and chug-chug-chugs like he does on his bottle. Erst leans his upper body into the back of the couch so he can sink himself further in.

“That’s it,” he mumbles. “That’s how you do it.” Like he has any actual idea. Definitely _feels_ like he’s doing it right, though, for sure. He humms happily. Everything about his brother’s mouth is even better than he imagined. His tongue presses on and off the spot he pees from, the hotwetsilk of his cheeks multiplied by a hundred times. Even the occasional half-bite from his gums when he gets too eager adds to the enjoyment.

Erst considers years from now, as a full-grown adult with his well-trained baby brother choosing to stay between his legs, so tiny, still a kid, still sucking on the dick that now barely fits at all---and spontaneously comes. Ghift does not choke because there isn’t anything really yet to choke on. He stays still a moment longer as deep as he can go, still except for some spasming in his thighs, before pulling out. A thin string of not-quite-just-drool sticks between his glans and his little brother’s tongue.

And he can do that whenever he wants.

“Good boy.” When someone does something right, you have to praise them. But he knows he’s going to have to give him a different reward. Babies can’t talk.

He lowers his diaper, checks to see that it is nice and clean, then examines his tiny genitals. Ghift’s penis is smaller than a cocktail weenie, and his testicles are a plump, smooth sack right below. Erst’s privates are bigger, but only because he himself is bigger. Puberty is a little ways away still.

As he stares he’s amazed to see it rise bit by bit until it’s standing stiff. Maybe it’s just the cool air. Or! Maybe he recognizes a reward is coming and is looking forward to it. Best not disappoint, then.

It’s so small the whole thing, balls and all, fits into his mouth. There’s no smell except for the fresh, clean baby-skin scent of his belly, which Erst’s nose prods. The taste is just as inoffensive. Ghift seems to stop fidgeting so much, but that just might be because the sensation is new, rather than out of actual enjoyment.

He sucks harder, making sure to flick his tongue over the tip, since that had felt so good for him. He’s not sure what kind of reaction to expect from a barely sentient human being; Ghift has now basically stopped moving, but does that mean he’s sleepy, concentrating on enjoying it, or a mix of the two, like it’s soothing him to sleep?

Either way, it happens. The little sausage in his mouth starts to twitch and pulse. His little brother is having his first orgasm in his mouth! He’s proud to give him such an early start in life. He’d only come the first time about a year ago, when he’d gotten hands-on during a bath. 

He puts his diaper back up, and strokes the fuzz of dark hair he already has growing on his head. Ghift coos, then starts kicking his legs like always. He doesn’t look any different. After Erst’s second time coming, he’d gotten out of the tub to see if what he’d been doing was visible in any way. His cheeks were pink, his pupils expanded, but he did not think he could see the self-satisfied glow he felt from inside. He’d wanted to see that again on his brother’s chubby face, but it’s probably for the best. Their parents aren’t observant but you never know.

He puts him back in his crib and kisses his cheek goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

Ghift has been crying for over an hour. Five minutes in, their mom went in to look at him---he heard the door the next room over open and close, then again, so he must not need anything. Sometimes there’s little breaks in the noise where he must be able to soothe himself a little, then he starts up again.

The sound is heartbreaking but Erst has been trying to ignore it. It’s in the middle of a school night, and these crying fits haven’t been uncommon.

Eventually he groans, rubs out the few crusties he’s accumulated out of his eyes, and drags himself out of his warm covers.

Ghift’s nursery consists of his crib, a plug-in fridge and bottle heater for his milk, a small couch, and rolls of paper towels and bags of diapers set aside. There’s no spinning mobile, the walls are bare and eggshell white, and there’s nothing on the wooden floor to keep off the chill. When he is old enough for toys he will have only a limp teddy bear and blocks with the paint worn off; gifts from other mothers in the village to celebrate Erst’s birth, before his parents made themselves totally known as antisocial weirdos.

“Shh already,” he scolds lovingly, peering over the top of the bars. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Ghift does not care. He continues wailing his heart out. His face is all red and crinkled, skin wet with tears and drool. Erst had once been in the same position and without an older brother to see to him; for a moment he sees himself, and feels a fresh wave of sorrow and anger for them both.

Down go the bars. He reaches in, heaves him up. Ghift keeps crying but now he can see him looking at him from within the puffy flesh around his eyes. “It’s me; big brother Erst!” He doesn’t know when babies start saying their first real words but he thinks he has a solid chance of getting in above ‘mama’ or ‘dada’. “Big bro!”

His body is even warmer than usual, as though he’d given himself a fever with crying so much. Erst holds him tight, reveling in it. Before Ghift he’d never noticed how _cold_ he is all the time, like there’s a layer of ice in his body only human contact can melt. When his teacher claps him on the shoulder when he’s done well there’s a similar glow, lasting only a second.

He breathes deep. His little brother smells like milk and clean skin.

Sometimes Ghift will stop crying when he holds him, but he’s really going on to beat the band this time. Maybe he’d like cuddling in bed with him… he’s considered the possibility and liked it, of sleeping next to this heat, but is afraid of rolling over on him during the middle of the night (and grim about there being pee and/or poop in his bed in any capacity). Maybe when he’s more toddler than infant. It’ll be nice.

All of his own nights, he’s spent alone in his bed. The idea of the frightened child seeking comfort in the parental bed after a nightmare or spooky closet sound was always an out-of-reach myth to him. When he was very little he sprayed his teddy with some of his mother’s perfume to sleep through the night with. He doesn’t love either of them enough to keep up that fantasy nowadays, so all he has is his empty twin bed and, if he is especially lonesome, a pillow in his arms.

But soon he’ll have Ghift… and Ghift will have him too.

He holds him against his shoulder and rubs his back, as he has seen mothers do. “Shh, baby. Shh.”

Ghift does not shh. His crying reaches a crescendo, creating in Erst a thick throat-clogging desperation. When Ghift cries like this, nothing he does soothes him. He has harbored an idea that if their mother ever bothered to comfort him, he would settle down right away.

It’s not fair. He’s not mom, or dad, but he loves him more.

His internal weather goes dim and drear and still.

When he feels like this suddenly nothing seems worth it. If his little brother doesn’t love him then all he is is a Brattern. And if that’s all he is it might be a mercy to smother him in his crib.

“Ghift… shh...”

Sometimes he takes him down and out to the garden, to enjoy the air and smells that are particularly fine at night. But while he’s wailing like this it wouldn’t be hard to track them, and even their parents might get up to see what’s happening. And he doesn’t want them interfering in his own child-rearing.

He puts him on the couch instead and unstraps his diappy. Please smile. Please love me. “Do you want to feel good? Is that what’s wrong?” If only he could just _tell_ him what he needs. His penis is completely soft, a tiny marshmallow. Erst grips it with his thumb and pinky and stimulates with anxious short strokes. Still no quiet. Still… nothing. Can he even come when he’s this upset?

It doesn’t stiffen. There’s no telltale pulsing inside the shaft.

Erst folds his arms beside his brother’s body and lays his head on them. In about four hours he’ll need to be up for school. The stillness inside him deepens; so deep his head goes blank. Mom and dad won’t care if he calls in sick. If not for the law they probably wouldn’t care if he never went. But he won’t do that. He is a good boy. A perfect student. An adored classmate. Much of what he is comes naturally to him, but he knows without a little showmanship, a little 'above and beyond' he wouldn’t be as loved.

He pulls Ghift closer so he can hug him. So warm. One of his tiny fists grabs onto his hair and yanks. It barely hurts. He’s too focused on his round belly on his cheeks, the smell of milk, fever, any connection at all. It is his eyes and throat that hurt.

At some point he naps then wakes because of his dead legs. The first thing he sees is Ghift, finally asleep. He’s afraid to work out the fuzziness by getting up and stumbling around their room; he shifts from one sore knee to the other instead, letting the pain sing by turns. Picking him up might wake him anyway, but that way would be gentle, sweet.

His eyelids do flutter. Poor baby, all tuckered-out. Erst sets him back in his crib with a clean nappy. At some point he wet himself and part of the couch with urine. Now, maybe…

He slips his hand down the front of it and again finds the infant sex inside. “Do you feel better, Ghift? Do you want this now?” He rubs, finding by touch. The cylinder that fits neatly between his fingers, the smooth sack beneath, the moist tip almost hidden in the foreskin. He wonders how big they’ll both end up getting. “Is it good?”

Ghift sticks his fingers in his mouth to suck. Oh. Maybe he wanted to make his big brother feel nice all along…

It stiffens, though, finally, and Erst sighs in relief. He’s so cute when he’s nice and quiet. Maybe he should get him a pacifier. He’s heard they’re not really good for babies, but once in a while wouldn’t hurt. A pretty blue one, to match his pajama onesies. It takes only a few minutes for it to climax, throbbing so hard he thinks the weenie itself would be shivering if he looked. Ghift smiles around his drooly fingers.

“Good boy,” Erst makes sure to say, then leans in to brush back the thin, downy hair, and kiss the forehead bared to him. Now to go to his bedroom for yet another nap.


	3. Chapter 3

One hundred and twenty days have passed since Ghift’s birth.

“Boo!” Erst whisper-shouts, jumping up from below the crib.

Ghift screams ‘bwah!’ in delight, all four of his limbs hiking up as high as they’ll go. Maybe he’s trying to ‘boo’ back, but he hopes it’s the start of another word.

“Boo!”

“Bwah!”

“Boo!”

“Bwaaah!”

Erst’s heart swells with love, looking at his smiling little face. His hair is growing in darker, and his eyes are still blue, though there’s small chance of them staying that way; both of their parents have brown eyes, and Erst’s own are hazel.

Ghift begins to fuss during the pause. His hands ball into fists and beat up and down. The growing uneven wobble of his mouth is a precursor to a crying fit.

“Shhh-h. Let’s continue playing outside, okay?”

It’s still easy to reach in and pick him up, which worries him a little. Shouldn’t he weigh more by now? He’s about thirteen and a half on the bathroom scale. The number is impossibly fragile to him. His little brother weighs less than a good fruit basket. All of his skin and bones and organs... in that paltry amount. The fact that he still is chubby is good, though; maybe he is healthy, just small.

Ghift quiets, smiles. His fingers unclench and make grabby motions.

“You love your big bro, don’t you?” Erst coos. He hadn’t been sure at first, but he is certain now that the smiling is intentional. At an age where Ghift can only babble, he’ll take whatever he can get. “I love you too.”

It’s cool out for a summer day, even for this time of evening. The sky is a light blue that turns somewhere along the way to a pale orange on the horizon. That orange color crests the top of every roof and glimmers between the tree branches.

School today was a chore. With his brother alive the approval of others isn’t as urgent a concern as it used to be, but it’s still something he needs, better than being _not_ wanted. So he still shows up on time every day, gets excellent grades, wears the same smile and makes the same gestures of kindness even when he’d rather be alone, and joins in for the after-school games of soccer or baseball.

Today something strange happened to him during the last lecture before lunch, when he is normally starting to get cagey anyway.

The sudden thought that... this could be his entire life forever. He will be feeling the same smile carved into his face through not just the rest of middle school, but through high school, adulthood, wherever he ends up working---if he does becomes a Summoner, it is the same smile he will respond to peoples’ trust and fears with.

And inside all the while he will know he is not what they think. 

The future is so real and close his mind detached from his body. Only his neck and chest reminded him that he is in it because his heart began to beat so fast it overfilled his artery to the bursting point. His head was going to pop off, if he didn’t have a heart attack first.

He is good not because he is a good person but because love in his direction is so good. Once in second grade he read with his lips moving even though he could read in his head because he knew the teacher would notice, and say, good, just like that. He raises his hand before every question so he will be seen as polite. It irritates him when his classmates want too much of his attention. Math is hard for him; it frightened him when so many of his classmates picked up fractions so quick. He had to study and review all that night not just to keep up, but to be _better_ \---always better, always perfect, good, good, loved----

Still smiling faintly, he managed to force his hands up to his face. Think of something better. His little brother, waiting at home for him. Waiting to love and be loved. Warm with his tiny pink nipples and thighs, soft and squeezy like cotton. The more vividly he imagined hugging him the more he slid back into himself.

Like every good boy, he sits front row, middle seat. In every classroom there can only be one front row, middle seat. The teacher stood in front of his desk, repeating his name in a questioning tone. “Are you alright, dear?”

His neck was still thumping, hands now weak and shaky but still attached to him. He looked up. Brightened the smile. “A little dizzy. Ghift had an accident, so there wasn’t time for breakfast.”

The classroom clucked in sympathy. The teacher gave him an apple he had no stomach for to tide him over until the bell.

Would she have done the same thing so gladly if he were a troublemaker? If he were a spitball-thrower, a back-talker? 

“It’s not like I mind smiling,” he tells Ghift. Chatting to babies helps them learn quicker, so he does it every day. “It’s just doing it when I’d rather be mad or sad.”

Their house is a small walk from the village proper, covered back and sides by trees at the end of a worn path. Around the small mansion’s actual property is a huge stone wall set with an imposing gate. He has to carry a key to unlock and lock it when he comes home.

Usually the whole set-up makes him feel vaguely trapped, but the certain privacy when he wants to spend time with Ghift is reassuring. Not that anyone really bothers to come out here.

Their garden is a bunch of laid rocks through what is mostly shrubbery, brightened by the occasional patch of wild flowers. Dad comes down to neaten things up when it gets unruly but other than that, he rarely sees either of them out here.

There’s a few benches throughout to rest at. There’s a particular one he prefers in front of a hedge. None of the windows can see it.

The sun’s warmth is still in it, but he puts down Ghift’s baby blanket before laying him on it. He stares up at him curiously.

“Baby want your paci?”

Erst had performed a few chores around the village, rather than ask his parents for an allowance. He’s bought a pacifier, rattle, and a few more changes of clothes he thought would suit him. The shopkeeper beamed and told him what a good big brother he is.

The pacifier is blue, a shade darker than Ghift’s pajama onesie. An embossed rabbit covers the back of the round handle. “Paci?” he asks again, waving it a little.

Ghift reaches one of his hands for it. Yes, paci. He has been very taken with his new toys, but Erst does not give them to him during his crying fits. He shouldn’t need anything other than his big brother’s presence to soothe him (his penis he has used successfully, but he can only endure the constant sucking through a few peaks).

He lets him clasp his fingers on his hand so he can feel like part of the process in getting his precious paci to his mouth. The sucking noises are immediate. Ghift shakes all over, like he’s too excited to contain it.

Erst watches him for a few minutes. Would he have been a pacifier baby? He hadn’t ever gotten into thumb-sucking, so maybe not. He can’t help wondering what the appeal is. Even if he knows the end result---comfort, relaxation---he’s not sure how sucking an inanimate object leads to those feelings. But even if he can’t understand it, he enjoys watching. A baby sucking on a pacifier is a sort of quintessential image of infanthood. He’s not sure why that appeals to _him_ but it does. This is a baby in its natural environment.

He recalls wistfully his thoughts in the morning---the ones of Ghift, that calmed him.

Today (rather, this evening, since he spat up earlier) Ghift is wearing a white shirt with short blue sleeves, and blue pants that are huge in the butt because of the diaper underneath. Erst pulls the former up over a swell of milk belly and a soft chest that would be effeminate on an older boy. His nipples are such a delicate pink it’s difficult to tell them apart from the rest of the skin. Erst sucks on one, latches onto the infant breast like their ages are reversed, lapping, gently nipping with his front teeth. The skin is so tender and uniform he can’t feel the nipple with his tongue. It’s all silky-smooth.

He sees it when he sits back. It’s even put out the tiniest bud imaginable, nourished by his saliva.

He evens out his work on the other nipple while massaging his brother between his legs. It’s difficult to make anything out, but he assumes he’s excited. Erst is. He’d like very much to replace the pacifier now with his own chest, but Ghift seems to get frustrated there, like he knows somehow he should be able to get milk.

Once he’s hardened up the other one he pulls down Ghift’s pants. He’s an even cuter image of a baby like this, with his paci and diaper, chubby legs bowed slightly outward to form a diamond. His fists stay clenched around his wet nipples.

He undoes the straps on his diaper and pulls the front down; nice and dry, but the cool air apparently prompts something in Ghift’s bladder. A stream of urine arcs from his penis, hard enough it still hits his diaper. Erst follows the flow back as it weakens, so he doesn’t get more than a few dribbles down himself.

How would he feel if he ever caught that spontaneous stream in his mouth? It hasn’t happened yet. Grossed-out, probably, but he can’t imagine getting actually mad. Babies can’t help when they go.

While he’s thinking of it, he checks along his privates and butt to make sure he isn’t getting a rash. He’s not actually sure what one looks like, beyond ‘red’, but Ghift’s body is so familiar to him he’s certain he’d notice anything out of place, and apparently they’re common with infants.

“Bwaah?” he says, smiling.

Ghift agreeably goes ‘brrr’ behind his pacifier.

Erst sucks him with indulgent slowness. The stone under his knees is hard but not cold. The weather is nice and breezy. After this morning’s anxiety, his mood is good, too---sucking off his little brother is a joy for him as well, a special treat, like the way he once looked forward to desserts. The faint taste of salt from the few droplets of urine dissolve almost immediately. His mind is going blank again but it’s nice, calm. There’s just the two of them, and this connection far more meaningful than a mere pacifier, as he provides what he himself has not properly experienced.

The day his brother puts his mouth on him with _knowledge_ of what it is he’s doing, he’s not sure that he could ever keep his dick out of his mouth again. That will be when the circuit of love between them can be fully closed.

Ghift announces his climax with another ‘brrr’ sound, and his feet suddenly kicking.

“Good boy for coming,” Erst whispers around his tiny prick. His hands reach up to pinch his pebbled nipples. Is this the first time Ghift has made noise for his orgasm? He’s pretty sure it is. Maybe it’s just an incidentally-timed bit of babble, but he wants to believe, and Ghift has been so good lately.

It calls for a reward.

He plucks away the pacifier and picks Ghift up before he can throw the tantrum his frowny mouth is promising. Placing him correctly is hard with his shirt in the way, but he knows right away when he has it right. Ghift’s gums latch right onto the area of his areola. “Ts---”

It hurts. But right now he wants the closeness of this. Sitting with his brother nuzzled (gnawing) on his chest, belonging to him more than he has ever belonged to anyone, his little brother. Erst has never felt so near to anyone.


	4. Chapter 4

The weather outside has been cooling for the past month. Sometimes Erst stares morosely out at all, the graying sky and deadening branches that serve as harbingers for the year’s end, all of the related festivities. Well and bearable when he’s at school, not so great in this cold, empty home looking at the lights in town he can see even from this far away. On the way home, knowing what he’s up against, he’ll pass laughing groups of families. Then there’s his birthday in the midst of things... but this year can’t be completely the same, can it? He has a little brother now.

“You’ll make it all better, won’t you? Ghift?”

At the sound of his name, Ghift blearily blinks and looks up. He’s gained a few pounds so that he’s become a solid, heavy warmth in his lap. Erst hasn’t grown at all lately, so it’s a nice thing to feel, to know he’s getting bigger. Lately he’s taken to clipping his nails when they get long, a process that seems to make him sleepy. Good to know, but it depends on there being nails to cut.

“Ah?”

“Right? I bet this year will feel much better with you here.” They typically get a bit of snow once they’re deep in the winter season. That would be fun to show him but it’d have to be quick. He’s not sure how to wrap up a baby for extreme cold. “Ghift?”

Ghift’s head jerks up toward him again, like a cat he’d called. Of course, he amends to himself, his little brother is much cuter than a cat. The color of his eyes have been lightening from the dark blue they’d been. He’s not sure what to think what they might end up being.

Five tiny little nails on one hand, five tiny little nails on the other. Then he has to hold one foot, clip the little piggies, wee-wee-wee all the way home, then the next set of piggies. Erst sings the song (which he learned from a book in early elementary, not from his own experience) softly while wiggling each toe back and forth, so he doesn’t get him all wound up.

“Eh-ah?”

“Exactly. All done.” He hugs him close---warm, he’s so warm---and nuzzles their cheeks together. Warm and fat and soft. “Ghift, do you wanna... do you want to take a nap with big bro?” Right, just a nap. It won’t be as risky as all through the night. He’s just been so cold lately, and only going to get colder. They’re already cuddling. Just turn it horizontal.

“Uuuuh,” Ghift says, yawning.

“Yeah, me too.”

He sets Ghift in the middle of his bed then gets pillows from the closet to lay on the floor around it. Ghift is tired now, but he’s been more active lately and really getting the hang of crawling down the halls. He’d hate for him to crawl right off the bed and bonk his head.

It’s midday but he changes into his nightclothes to match his bed partner. His first time in bed with his little brother! In a manner of speaking. It’s the start of a beautiful thing. Maybe they can do it all through the night in another six months, when he’s a year old. He won’t even have to wean him into sleeping alone like normal kids have to be. Given his way they’ll be sharing a bed all the way into both of them reaching adulthood.

He gets under the blankets and brings him in with him.

This is amazing.

Is this what other kids feel when they sleep in bed with their parents? When they feel any love or affection at all? When they have any acknowledgement of their existence, of their fears and worries, and know that mommy and daddy will protect them and make things all better? It’s more than the mystique of the mood, the quiet and the dark. It’s holding onto someone, being skin to skin and loving, being loved.

He cries, silently, without shaking. The tears fill his eyes and slide down the bridge of his nose, the side of his cheek, dripping into his pillow and hair, a drop or two into his ear. His vision of his little brother’s round face grows so hazy he closes his eyes.

In the end, only Ghift naps. The majority of his attention is so focused on the experience he can only manage a half-drowse himself. Even the wetness of his face is comfortable. He doesn’t wipe it away. Please hurry and get bigger as fast as you can... a few hours pass before Ghift is kicking his legs, a whiny _mrrr_ rising in his throat.

“Are you hungry?” He doesn’t smell like he went. Mmm. Clean baby smell. “Let’s get your bottle.”

He smiles. Ghift pauses, then smiles back. Aaaah, unbelievably cute. His little brother is the most adorable in the world.

He went out earlier to go to the store and pick up some baby food. Mom and dad seem like they’ll keep Ghift just on milk until his teeth come in, but he should be able to eat pureed and mashed stuff by now. What else do they sell baby food for? He’ll give him a little and see if he likes it.

Ghift’s nursery hasn’t gotten much more suitable for an infant. Erst has gotten him a few toys, more clothes, but at his age there’s not much else he can do. When he’s older with an actual income, and maybe more say about his brother’s raising, he can give him a more appropriate environment. It pains him to have to wait that long, it really does.

(his parents don’t care about him doting on ghift, which is all that they see him doing to him. but he worries about what would happen if he tried overtly to undermine them, to do something as noticeable and bothersome as, say, trying to paint the walls a more pleasant color. his parents don’t need him anymore now that ghift is here.)

They’ve said nothing about him bringing out his old highchair once he finally found it, and probably his mom has seen the little jars, but they might suppose that it is close enough at least to that time that they don’t care.

Erst sets him into it, carefully so he doesn’t sit on his own legs, then gets out a jar of ‘chicken’. The smell when he opens the lid makes his nose wrinkle. If he was familiar with pets, he might liken the dirty-grease texture of it to dog food. It makes him morbidly curious about how it tastes. He digs out enough to cover the lip of his spoon and tentatively sucks. What it tastes like is washed-down applesauce past its expiry. Now he feels bad about putting this in his brother’s mouth, but since he’s starting to _mrrr_ again, all he can hope is that babies have undeveloped taste buds along with everything else.

“Choo-choo?” It’s more of a suggestion than a sing-songy exhortation. Ghift smacks one of his palms onto his tray. Erst supposes his bottle is the only thing he knows of that will abate the gnawing feeling in his belly. This tiny jar means nothing to him yet. “Ghift? Choo-choo?”

Ghift glares at him and smacks his tray again. “Eeaaah!”

“Sh-sh. I think you’ll like it. Maybe.” He got a few other flavors, but he figures he’ll try the chicken for a week to give it a fair shake. Infants and toddlers are notoriously picky, after all. It might take him a while to decide he likes the taste of chicken, or... whatever this is.

He scoops out enough to fill the spoon halfway and dodges a fist to tap it on his little brother’s pouting lower lip. Ghift does not suck things automatically the way he used to, but he’s well-used to sucking regardless, whether it’s on his bottle or his big brother’s penis. His eyes go wide and his hands fly up, like the taste physically startled him. A few moments pass in complete stillness as he seems to digest exactly what it is that’s in his mouth, then an unmistakable expression of utter betrayal crosses his face.

Erst is not unsympathetic. “Gross, huh?”

“Aaah!” Both of his hands go this time, bang-bang. “Eh!”

“Eh?” He’s so mad and noisy but after that nap together, Erst feels fine. He puts the jar down so he can hold his (literal) baby brother’s face in his hands. “I bet you want that taste out, right?” He kisses his forehead, his nose, his soft pink mouth. Ghift tries to wiggle away but it’s easy to keep him in place for him. There’s a lot of give to kissing him, without teeth to provide the ‘firmness’ Erst has read about. He pushes his tongue in and finds a delicious chamber of sweetmeat and ingrained milk, only a faint hint of that gross applesauce flavor to spoil it. Ghift sucks and nibbles on it like a goldfish. 

He’s so happy to exchange his first kiss with him, and if he could he’d happily lose his senses in kissing him until he’s all drooly and hard, but he has to be a little present. It wouldn’t do for mom to come in here and see her sons making-out. Then again... he has to wonder if she’d care. If she did, he doesn’t doubt it would have more to do with the possibility of jeopardizing Ghift’s future than with any worry of abusing him. 

Erst would never do that. But he knows others would jump to that conclusion.

He parts soon out of consideration for his tiny lungs---see?---and tries to compromise, one spoon of baby food for a sip of milk, until Ghift starts angrily spitting up.


End file.
